What The Family Wants (name might change)
by MaskedPyro
Summary: When you have everything and nothing at the same time, you become numb. So numb... Until a stranger is standing before you as you lay on your mattress you pulled from the trash, in your private corner of the world that you could have sworn nobody would ever find... With their hand stretched out, less than a foot from your face. Offering you shelter. Family. (Semi-Mafia AU)
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

* * *

The alleys were cold. They always had been. Especially at night.

Nobody was going to let a street rat in their home and they wouldn't even give a blanket to a man dying of hypothermia. "A waste of goods" was what it had always been considered. If you're living on the streets, then you're bound to die soon and nobody wanted to spend money on a dying man they didn't know.

There was one exception where a senile entrepreneur had found a man sleeping in an alley. The man went to the nearest store and ended up buying a portable heater for the seemingly sleeping man. The rich man hadn't noticed the "sleeping" man's slit throat, the dried pool of blood under him, the maggots crawling around the wound or the bites and tears in the flesh left by rodents which claimed the man as food. The heater was left next to the dead man with a wish of "good luck to you sir" before the rich man skipped away, back to his pristine home miles away.

The heater wasn't homeless for long as a man had grabbed it as a gift for his wife who always complained about the cold. The man was intent on stealing it from the corpse but when he realized the unmoving man was indeed a corpse, he didn't even bother to call someone to take care of the body. Just grabbed the heater, cleaned it in his lawn, then brought it in for his wife.

That's the way things were on the streets. People were homeless longer than - and more useless than - a broken machine in the trash. Someone always took pity and tried to fix the machine but avoided contact with the people - or Rats as they were more often called - at all costs.

But, every so often, there would be someone that learned how the streets worked. How to avoid confrontation with other Rats, streets with the most forgiving and even generous people, and - the most important if you ever intended on surviving more than a week - how to manipulate people.

Manipulation came in many forms; Distracting a vendor with idle chit-chat as you robbed them blind. Getting friendly with the baker so he'll give you some leftover goods. Walking past a "random" stranger and slipping a hand into their pockets without them realizing. Even manipulating the shadows to cover you when you needed to hide or get away.

Attaining a single of these traits was more or less common. Mastering a single trait was less common. Mastering two or three was rare. Mastering all four? You were considered almost a legend to the Rats, on the line between "normal" and "scum" to the people with homes and money, and a wanted criminal - borderline escape artist - to the police.

There one minute, gone the next. Stealing money from a man's pockets on the sidewalk one minute, then standing down the street and listening to old Ms. Jenkens - as she talked about the same story for the sixth time that week because she loved it - the next. Running down a dead end alley one minute, seemingly vanished into thin air in the next. Stealing an apple from a vendor as you talked to them like a friend then turning around and being given caramel by the candy shop owner to dip the apple slices in.

As a master manipulator, the streets become a playground. You get what you want and you can play all you want. Never getting caught and getting to play with whatever you managed to snatch...

...Until you get too good.

When stealing becomes as second nature as breathing, you don't even feel your hands going for the things in front of you. You think about it and it's suddenly in your pockets. The fun's gone and you sit in your little corner of the world wondering what in your life first went wrong. You can't sell half the things you've stolen because, at this point, every pawn shop has their tricks and call the cops should anything stolen be turned in.

So you sit. And think. And stare at your goods you've collected over the years that are now useless. Thinking about nothing more than how cold the night is and how the wind blows straight through your torn clothes and freezes you slowly.

But you're already numb. You fight to live. You cheat and lie to survive. You do everything you must to get what you want. Then, when you have everything and nothing at the same time…

You become numb...

So _numb_...

...Until a stranger is standing before you as you lay on your mattress you pulled from the trash...

...In your private corner of the world that you could have sworn nobody would ever find...

...With their hand stretched out, less than a foot from your face…

...Offering you shelter…

...Family…

...A home…

...Somewhere to belong.

The offer is too good to be true and you want to say 'no'. You want to curse the man and make him leave. Maybe even kill him so you can take his things and he can't tell anyone of your shelter.

But you find your hand taking his.

Your mind is saying 'no'. Not wanting to get your hopes up and get to know what a real bed feels like only to be kicked out. Not wanting to taste a real meal only to be forced back to the streets and wanting nothing but that meal until the day you die of starvation.

But your body says 'yes'. You want that bed, even if only for a few short moments, just to know what it feels like. You want that meal, even if only a small bite, just so you can say you had a decent meal. You want it all so you can have a chance of knowing what a home feels like. What a family feels like. What _comfort_ and being able to _relax_ , even for a _minute_ , feels like. And the thought of a bath… One with warm water that actually cleans you, head to toe. You want to know what all of it is like.

So you let your body do as it pleases. Your hand takes the man's hand, though you keep your guard up just in case. You let him lead you to his home. To his mansion. A luxurious paradise you thought you wouldn't even be able to see from outside without the guards attacking you.

The inside of the mansion is something you've never seen before. Not in anything you've ever stolen from. Not from peeking in windows of the somewhat nicer houses you've seen. The entrance to the building is better than any house you've ever seen in your entire life. Better than the orphanage. Better than the church. Better than the Pastor's home. Better than the mayor's home. And that's just the door and entrance hall.

The rest of the building is a mystery to you. A mystery you're sure you'll never see every corner of.

The building is a drug. You can already tell. You've had a free sample, a free taste. But to have more, you'd have to give up everything. And for someone with nothing… That's impossible.

So you enjoy your sample, intending on getting everything you can out of it before it leaves you in the dust.

You don't intend to let it go.

You aren't stopped at the entrance hall like you expect. You're led further. Up a grand staircase leading to the second floor. You're led to another door and you briefly find yourself wondering if you're being led into a trap.

The doors open and you find yourself in a room, bigger than most houses you've seen in the slums. Your eyes linger on the plush looking king sized bed that's headboard is pressed to a wall with a nightstand on each side, wondering if it's as soft as it looks. The large windows covering one wall that points towards the town - from what little you can see past the parts in the well-decorated drapes - and you wonder what the place you knew as "home" looks like from here. If you can even see it. The double doors on the third wall are open and reveal a large walk-in closet and you have to wonder if that's what a high-end clothing store looks like, everything inside looking expensive. The sitting area in one of the corners of the room, where a large couch and bookshelves make up what you believe to be the most comfortable reading area, suddenly makes you feel not as proud that you can actually read unlike most the Rats your age or even older.

Your last thought is a question. 'Whose room is this?'

Before you can speak your question, or even finish your thought, you're pushed to another door you hadn't noticed before. The door is opened when you get there and reveals what could only be called a personal spa. To the man guiding you, this is nothing more than a bathroom with the necessities. But, to you, this room in its entirety has two of the three things you've only ever wanted. A bed and a bath.

You vaguely hear the man give a command to someone who managed to sneak up on you while you were distracted. The person, in what looks like a uniform, nods to the man before he smiles at you - kindly, though it still makes you more than a little uneasy - as he turns to leave. The person in uniform starts the bath in the center of the room and tells you to undress.

Your guard rises. You refuse to do something even remotely like that. Refuse to show even the slightest hint of relaxation, trust, and willingness. Your fingers slowly curl around the base of your shirt and you know your body is turning against your mind again. Your body is aching and begging for that bath but your mind refuses to undress in front of anybody.

The person in uniform makes up your mind for you. After their hand reaches into the water to check the temperature, they turn off the water, leave and close the door behind them. They walk out of the spa-like bathroom and leave you to your business with the statement that they'll be outside should you need help with anything. You're about to start wondering about clothes when you realize there's a brand new outfit folded carefully on a stand near the bath but not close enough for the water to splash and wet.

With a quick glance around, you recognize that you're alone in the room. Without hesitation, your clothes - more like rags - start to peel off of your sweat and dirt stained body. You stick a hand in the water for yourself to test before you jump in. The tub is large enough that you feel almost as if you were in a heated pool. It's large enough to move around and be comfortable every which way. You allow yourself to soak and enjoy the warm, clean water - while it's still that - before you get around to actually cleaning yourself. Soap, shampoo, conditioner, everything's provided and sitting on a little shelf attached to the edge of the tub.

When you dub yourself clean, you get out of the tub. Watching the dirt and grime that was originally on you wash down the drain, you realize there isn't a speck of dirt left in the tub. You grab the nearest, plushest towel you can find and dry yourself off quickly. You get dressed and happen to pass a mirror on your way to the door. You stare at your reflection for a moment, wondering if that's really you or some other kid. You've never been so clean. Your normally light hair had always looked brown because of the dirt and you realize that tan you thought you had was really just a thin layer of dirt all over your body.

After assessing yourself, you make your way to the door and find the person in uniform standing there, waiting for you. They ask you to follow them after fixing your hair a bit and guide you back downstairs and to a large hall with a long table in the center with a chair at each end and six on each side. In every chair but one is a person, you realize, and they all notice you enter. You realize then that you had allowed yourself to relax during the bath and walk because you feel your guard come up again and you're ready to fight should anyone make a wrong move towards you.

You're led to the empty chair and forced to sit. After giving everyone a look over to see if they're a threat, you allow your eyes to leave them to see what's in front of you. Your eyes widen a fraction and you can feel your mouth water at the perfectly cooked steak sitting in front of you, waiting for you to eat it and everything else on your plate.

Your attention is drawn to the man sitting next to you at the head of the table. You recognize him as the man that brought you here but he's cleaned up almost as much as you have, considering he wasn't so dirty to begin with. His chuckle at your reaction to everything is what drew your attention and you can't help but glare at the man for laughing at you.

He chuckles again and grins, telling you to relax and simply enjoy everything in front of you. You doubt that'll happen anytime soon. The man says a few words and everyone starts on their meals.

All but you.

You take a moment to take in how everyone is acting.

Prim and proper.

Having never been taught table manners, you copy the man next to you. Picking up the knife and fork, you cut the steak into pieces easy for you to chew. You take the first bite and you nearly feel like crying. The taste is unbelievable and the meat practically "melts in your mouth" as you've heard people say when describing a well-cooked steak. The only thing that keeps you from crying - in happiness or anything else - is your pride.

You never let people you knew for years see you cry so there's no chance you'd let these people see it happen when they have only just seen you. So you make it through the meal, pretending like you have it every night and that it's nothing new. You try and do everything right, your only hope is that they let you stay long enough to let you sink in that bed you saw before so your three lifelong wishes could come true in a day.

That's when a throat being cleared next to you grabs your attention. The man that brought you here is standing now, but everyone is still sitting, so you stay sitting, looking up at him like the rest of them. He smiles and looks at you, making you wary of what he's about to say.

He asks your name. And that's all.

You tell you him you don't have one. And if you did then it's been long forgotten.

He frowns with a comment of "that's too bad" and you feel like you've done something wrong. That you won't be allowed to try that bed. That you'll be stripped of the nice clothes they let you wear. That you'll be thrown back to your private corner of the world to be left to rot and die alone.

But what he says next surprises you away from those thoughts. "We'll have to give you one" is what you hear. "You can't go around forever answering to 'hey' and 'boy'" is his defense and explanation.

You openly stare in disbelief. You don't care what the others think anymore. This man you've known for less than an hour has given you nearly everything you've ever wanted and maybe even a name. Your wide eyes are focused solely on the man that you don't even realize the other people in the room anymore. You barely hear yourself ask one question; one word. Why.

Why would a stranger be so willing to help an orphan Rat like you? Why would a stranger feed, clothe, and bathe a Rat like you? Why would this stranger look for you and follow you back to your "home" only to take you to his and take care of you? It was all so strange and none of it made sense.

"Isn't that obvious?" The man starts, drawing your attention yet again away from your thoughts. "I want you to join my family."

That…

That made even less sense.

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 ** _Important_ : Other chapters won't be written this way. This is second person narrative and a bit of explanation. The rest of the story will be third person like most stories. ( _Example : "Allen ran home from school"_)**

* * *

 **This is just a random thing I felt like writing. I actually started writing with no plot in mind. Just went with whatever popped into my head. About four paragraphs in, I asked my friend for a plot idea and she helped me with a Mafia-style AU.**

 **I can't promise regular updates. Can't promise updates honestly. But I'll try. I've been really wanting to write again lately (at least type) and I kinda like this idea so I'm willing to see how this goes if you guys are willing to wait and see with me. Thanks for the read and I hope for a fave, follow and review. See ya.**


	2. Chapter 01

_**Chapter 1**_

* * *

A figure in a grey jacket made their way with the crowd, keeping in step with a majority of the people. Their hood was up to cover their head and their hands in their pockets, seemingly to keep the mid-winter cold from giving them a chill. The figure slowed their pace until they were stopped in front of a vendor, the hood turning down a touch as the figured looked at the merchandise on the stand.

A hand moved to grab an apple on display as the other handed the money over to the owner of the stand. The hand previously holding the money returned to its pocket as the apple was raised to the hood. A distinct ' _crunch_ ' was heard as the figure bit into the skin of the apple.

A second passed before the figure continued their march with the crowd, occasionally tossing the apple into the air before taking another bite, leaving a fresh mark in the flesh of the fruit. One particular toss of the half eaten snack ended with it landing face down in the street, the one eating it having been bumped into and unable to catch it. The figure's shoulders seemed to slump as they realized their pocket felt lighter and their fruit was on the rather disgusting street. A small frown could be seen under the hood before the figure seemed to disappear, reappearing further down the street and a few stands in front of the one who robbed them. A simple adjustment of the figures weight from one foot to another left a heel kicked out just enough to trip the running thief. The thief stumbled and glared at the hood before taking off again.

The thief ran down a few streets before turning into an alley. They searched their pockets for all the goods they'd stolen and found a wallet and other goods missing. The wallet was one he was sure he'd stolen from the hooded figure. The figure that had somehow gotten in front of him and caused him to stumble. The thief frowned and went back to where they stumbled, only to be confronted by police the moment he stepped in front of the stand. The thief tried to deny everything until the officers checked his pockets, finding possessions that had been reported as stolen. The thief glared and looked around, trying to find a way out but froze when he saw the familiar hood across the street. The hooded figure was smirking - from what he could tell - and holding something. Upon closer inspection, it was the Hood's wallet and other things the thief had stolen. The thief drew the officer's attention toward the Hood but the person was already gone, having vanished with the next round of people walking by.

The hooded figure walked away with a smirk as they put their wallet back in their pocket and looked over the other things they had grabbed from the thief. A gold pocket watch, a leather wallet with some cash, a silver ring, and a pocket knife. Some good money and even a decent weapon.

The figure let out a quiet chuckle as they realized they ruined that man's chances of doing whatever it was he was going to do with the money and weapon. Probably buy a gun and rob a store considering how much was previously in his pockets. The figure felt almost proud that they'd caused an arrest before the real robbery had a chance of happening.

The figure turned down an alley, a smirk still playing on their lips. A call of "I saw that" drawing the figure to a halt, the smirk growing more amused. The smirk stayed as the lips moved to ask an innocent question; "Saw what?"

"Y'know, I thought you'd take more pity on the Rats," the male voice behind the hooded figure started. "Especially considering you were one, once upon a time."

Shuffling alerted the hooded figure to the fact that the speaker was walking closer to them. "You lose all sense of pity towards them when you realize the smallest ounce may find you dead in a dark alley the next morning." The hooded figure spoke as they turned around to face the other person.

The man in front of them was tall in comparison, about 6 foot, and wearing a black leather jacket. The man wore an orange hoodie under the black jacket but didn't allow the hood to cover his face like the other figure did. The man allowed his short golden hair to be seen by all as his single golden eye was known to watch people without them realizing, even if they were staring at him. The other eye was always covered by an eyepatch with a cartoon cross on it, the loss of an eye never stopping the man from smirking at others and showing amusement in the remaining eye.

The hooded figure knew exactly who the man was, a close friend that happened to know everything on everyone. If a person was murdered, this man knew before the police did. If a person was moving in or out, the golden man knew who they were and where they were going to be living before the moving company or neighbors did. A person in the entire city couldn't so much as look at their watch without this man knowing, sometimes ahead of time. If you ran on a schedule, that made the man's job all the easier.

That was Timcanpy.

Nobody knew his real name, where he came from, his family, his past. Nothing. Not even how he got the name he answers to now. The man was an anomaly. He wasn't a Rat - far too well off for that, you could tell from his cleanliness and clothes alone - and yet he acted like one. Acted like he lived on the streets his entire life, his skills not saying otherwise. He was as skilled as the hooded figure, maybe even more so considering he was able to sneak up on them.

"I'm guessing you want info." The man's voice spoke up, bringing the hooded figure out of their musings.

The figure seemed to frown behind their hood. "Now come on Tim… That's not all I come to you for." The frown seemed to turn into almost a pout as a golden eye was rolled around in its socket.

A hand was placed on a hip and the owner's expression seemed to ask the question for him. 'Seriously?' A shake of golden hair and an intake of breath had the man speaking. "That may be true," He started before looking over the others apparel, "but that's all you come to me for when dressed like that."

A sigh was heard before a hand left it's pocket and moved the hood from the person's head. Pristine white hair was the first thing to be seen followed by pale skin, marred only by a large red scar cutting angrily over the left eye and down the cheek - starting as a pentagram on the forehead, running through the eye and another scar under it, then making a 90 degree turn under the eye before caressing the cheek downward like a tear. When the hood was fully down, the person lifted their head and opened their eyes, revealing mirror-like silver eyes. A white eyebrow was raised as if asking 'happy?' The smile the golden haired boy gave was enough of an answer. Then the snow-haired teen noticed his friend staring. He sighed. This was why he never showed Tim his scar.

 _The gold and silver-haired teens had been friends for years, far before the silver boy had gained the rather nasty and stand-out-ish scar. Even before Tim had gotten into his current business of knowing everything and everyone better than the back of his hand._

 _The two had been on a mission together, Tim's first in fact. The two went in, proud and ready for anything._

 _Or so they thought._

 _They had expected only a handful of men. But it had been an ambush. More than twenty men, armed and ready to fight, had been waiting for the two teens. They were easily outnumbered and Tim didn't know how to fight well enough. The silverette had ordered the blonde to run and get help while he fought the men. Tim had been hesitant to leave but after the other had taken out two men on his own, the golden boy ran, not without his own injuries. By the time Tim had made it back to the Family, he was half blind in his injured eye and could taste the blood coming from the wound. Everyone tried to take care of him but he refused it. Not until the other was returned home, safe and sound._

 _But that wouldn't happen._

 _One of the fourteen executives of the family, a "Noah" as they were called, had gone to save the youngest of them. An hour went by with no word of the two Noah. As the head of the family started to gather a team to look for them, the doors had opened to reveal the two missing persons. It wasn't a good sight, the older holding the younger who was bleeding from more than one spot, the worst of it being his face. The younger had been rushed into the care of a family doctor who had been there for Tim. Tim told the doctor to take care of his friend first and the man did._

 _While the younger was being taken care of, Tim lost the last of his vision in his injured eye. To Tim, it was fair. His friend had a blatantly obvious scar on his face and now so would he._

 _But the other never took it that way._

 _For weeks, the younger was angry at Tim and even himself. He had let Tim get injured and Tim had refused any kind of care until he was home. In the time it took for the younger to return and get the help he needed, Tim could have been taken care of and still be able to see out both eyes._

 _On that day, the two young teens made a promise to themselves._

 _The younger promising he'd get strong enough to protect him, his friends, and - especially - his family so this never happened again._

 _The older, believing they would have had better chances were they prepared ahead of time for the ambush, promised to look into everything and everyone so he and his friends would never be attacked like that again._

Both had fulfilled their self-promises.

The younger had become one of the strongest of the Noah and even one of the stealthiest, going out on a mission only when others were busy or if the mission was too much for the other Noah.

The older became more all-knowing than the government, security agencies, and any other intelligence agency. An eye over the city and even a few others nearby. The older sometimes used his knowledge for his own fun but, more often than not, used it to be an informant for the family he was unofficially a part of.

"Stop staring." The younger of the two teens said, bringing himself and the other away from the memories of that day. "You didn't hold the knife, just like how you didn't leave the scar. It's been three years. You can stop blaming yourself."

"Only when you stop blaming yourself for my eye." The other retorted, looking the younger in his silver eyes with a smirk. "But that day won't happen, will it Allen?"

The young Noah - Allen - sighed and scratched the back of his head with a gloved hand, messing up his flattened hair and giving it life again. "No… It won't. But, to be fair, I blame you and the dead men for your eye too."

Gold hair swayed as the owner chuckled and shook his head. "Fair," Timcanpy spoke before smirking, returning to the previous topic. "So. What do you want to know?"

Allen gave a smirk of his own and pulled two pictures out of one of his pockets. He took a step closer to Tim so he could hand over the images. "I need to know who they are and where they are. The best time to… _talk_ as well if you can."

Tim took the pictures and stared at the faces with a blank expression. Allen was in 'work mode' right now so he would be too. He'd seen these men before and was sure he knew the reason for Allen looking into them, but he had to ask anyways. "They have something to do with the recent break-in's?" His voice was no longer playful like it had been, but rather straightforward and down to business.

"Yeah," Allen said with an annoyed sigh and crossed arms. The two men had been getting more annoying every day. The Family had control over a majority of town - whether the government knew that or not, he had no clue - and had found that a few of their warehouses had been broken into night after night. It hadn't taken long for them to buff up security for the buildings but these men still found a way in. They'd set up camera's one day and were lucky to have gotten pictures of the men - though their humiliation in finding out it was only two men was high.

The Earl - the head of the family - had called Allen to take care of it. From what they already knew of the men, they were most likely Rats and knew their way around everything. That's where Allen came in. Being a Rat from the day he was born until he was thirteen meant he was knowledgeable of these men and how they acted. Allen's strength and stealth were no laughing matter. Everyone was good at their own things - manipulation, deceit, hand to hand combat, guns, knives, etc. - but they weren't exactly at Allen's level. Close, but not close enough. It had gotten to the point that, if Allen couldn't do it, then only the Earl could. Or so the Noah thought.

"They're Rats," Timcanpy said, drawing Allen's attention back to him. "Though, I'm sure you already know that. I've seen them use our little trick of blending in more than once. They tend to act normal until suddenly they're gone. The next time you see them, they look like kids who just left a candy store with everything they ever wanted." Allen opened his mouth to speak up - he already figured this much out on his own - but was interrupted. "I know where they come from but never knew where they went. Now I do. Meet me at 'The Tower' tonight at eleven. I'll show you the path they take every night."

And with that said, Timcanpy was gone, leaving Allen alone in the alley. Allen sighed and pulled his hood up again, already far too used to Tim's sudden leavings. The hooded teen walked out of the alley and back into the crowd, vanishing in the sea of people.

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 **I actually made this longer but I don't feel well and wanted to put Chapter One out there. Hope that's a decent intro… Anyways, the rest of the story should be more like this rather than like the prologue. Technically, Chapter Two is already started and probably half done so I'll work on that and upload it tomorrow. See ya.**

* * *

 **I always imagined a human Timcanpy as a kid. Until recently. For some reason, I've been picturing him as a teen that likes to mess with people. My friend questioned it and my only explanation was "I imagine a grown man pissing off Cross which leads Cross to turn him into a Golem… and not know how to turn him back." She said that it was a pretty believable situation. Another friend asked me "why the eyepatch" to which my answer was kind of lazy. "I didn't know how to add the cross on the golem's face to the person." But hey. Tim having only one eye might explain why his memory/projection/things are kinda hazy and static-y. *shrugs* I don't know.**


	3. Chapter 02

_**Chapter 02**_

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'The Tower' was a place every Rat knew of and no others knew how to get to. The amount of twists and turns through the alleys would often get men lost and land them in some part of the city they didn't know existed. One wrong turn would even land you in front of a police station that was well known for arresting anyone the officers "didn't like the looks of". More than a dozen Rats had been arrested for simply going the wrong way.

But for men like Allen and Timcanpy, getting to 'The Tower' was a walk in the park. Especially if you knew where a ladder to the rooftops was placed and knew what buildings were connected. Walking the roofs made it so much easier to get to your destination, but most Rats avoided it. The few that have tried have either found a weak roof and been arrested for "breaking and entering" while others had just been seen and arrested for suspicion alone. So most Rats took the winding alleys.

'The Tower' was just that. A tower. It had been built years prior as a hotel and was supposed to bring all this money in for the city. And it would have…

...Had they not run out of money while building the place.

The budget had been far too small for such a grand hotel. They didn't even have the money left to tear it down. Slowly, the removal of the building became impossible as the property was still owned - nobody would buy it - and homes and other buildings were built around it. It was the tallest and most useless building in the entire city.

With 'The Tower' demanding attention, the city often would take care of the outside, leaving the inside to rot. Above a certain height, the city would clean, repaint, and replace any blown out lights in the sign simply because they didn't want it to be a total waste of money. Surprisingly, people visited the town simply to stare at 'The Tower' and hear of its sad story - the property owner's mother had died and they couldn't bring themselves to finish it as it was originally their mother's idea and dream; complete bullshit. The abandoned building had become a tourist trap and not, at the same time. All roads leading to the place had been destroyed or covered so nobody could see its ugly base, leaving only the back alleys as a way to get there.

With people unable to get to 'The Tower', many Rats claimed it as their home. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than a cardboard box. It had walls that actually blocked the wind and a roof to block the blazing sun and pouring rain. The only downside was how many Rats wanted it. It seemed like, every other day, there was a turf war of sorts. Rats would come in, trying to claim a small corner to themselves, but the spot would already be claimed and cause a fight. Rats would claim small corners or entire floors and if you so much as stepped a foot in their claim, a fist fight would start in an instant.

Only a few people were allowed in the entire hotel. Every level, every inch was welcome to them. All for one reason. They were strong. All Rats could tell when a person was strong and chose to stay away if they knew the person was stronger. One man, in particular, happened to "own" 'The Tower'. A teenaged boy with white hair, a scar on his face, and a monochrome mask that he was never seen without.

Rats spoke of the masked teen often, usually making claims that the teen was a friend and would back them up should anything happen to them. It was all a lie and nobody ever believed it anymore. Nobody knew who the teen was, how he knew how to get there, or why he was so strong. The few that had fought him or seen him fight would always remember it as a clown that was crowned with strength by God. Crowned Clown.

The teen didn't look like a clown. Rather, he looked like a well-dressed angel with his white suit that never seemed to get dirty, pristine white hair, white and black mask, and light complexion. Nobody had ever seen his eyes but they believed those to be light as well. What made them call the teen a 'clown' was how he moved. He moved with such ease and his balance was always perfect that everyone believed he used to be a clown, especially with the stunts a few had seen him pull off. And the 'crown' was his title. He was strong and like a king to the Rats in terms of strength. He never acted as a ruler, never even talked to the Rats, but he moved with the elegance and authority that was often carried by one wearing a crown.

The one everyone spoke of, the 'Crowned Clown', sat in an open window on the second floor, awaiting his friend. He checked his watch and saw it was nearly eleven like promised, only three minutes 'till. He had to admit, maybe he was a little too ready to do this. He had arrived at the usual spot nearly thirty minutes early. But who could blame him? The Earl and the rest of the family had no clue just how much had been stolen from them. All they knew was that they were being robbed and Allen - correction; Crowned Clown - wanted to end it. He didn't want to sit at one of the warehouses and hope the thieves would visit him while another location was robbed. He wanted to follow them and catch them before they got away with it again.

"Damn it…" He cursed under his breath. "Where is he already?"

"Looking for me?" A smirking voice asked from inside the building, behind the white covered boy. Crowned Clown turned away from his view of rooftops to face the owner of the voice and frowned. His friend was dressed like usual and smirking. But he wasn't standing. Oh, no. He was sitting and leaning against the wall with his legs outstretched and ankles crossed, looking as if he'd been _sleeping_ and just woke up. Tim smirked at his friend as he stood, patting any dust off of his black jeans. "Y'know, if you'd have spoken any time in that half hour, I would have answered."

"Why didn't _you_!?"

A shrug and a pout, the childlike frown losing its effect with the clear amusement in the owner's golden eye. "I thought you were enjoying the view."

Crowned Clown pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to calm down - for now - with the reminder that he needed his friend as a guide to catch the thieves. He'd unknowingly wasted thirty minutes and refused to waste a second more. "Can we just get to what we came here for? _Please_?" The all white boy asked, stressing the asked word.

Tim rolled his eyes with a smirk. "No need to get your panties in a twist." The sudden drop of amusement left nothing but business in the golden boy before his companion could become any more frustrated. "In all honesty, I've been waiting just like you have. The men you're looking for happen to pass by here every night at around this time. Now, if I had spoken up, you would have been more anxious and missed if they left. So, really, I did you a favor by sitting quietly."

The younger of the two opened his mouth to speak but promptly shut it with an annoyed sigh, knowing his friend to be true. If he had seen his friend sooner, he wouldn't have listened and, when he finally would have, he wouldn't be able to sit still and just... _watch_. He had been trying to avoid that by going to his friend in the first place. In all, this was actually more preferred. If the thieves had shown up earlier than expected, he would have seen them while waiting for Tim rather than bouncing from one window to the next in hopes of catching sight of his targets.

Not wanting to admit his friend was right, Crowned Clown turned back to the window. To his great relief, he didn't have to sit still long. Movement in an alley, leading away from 'The Tower', drew his attention to the two men he had been waiting for. Keeping his eyes on the men, he turned his head enough to nod to his friend; a silent thanks. With a nod in return, he jumped from the window he was previously occupying to land on a sloped roof a few feet in front of him.

The masked boy kept low on the roofs so as not to be seen but still able to watch his targets. The thought occurred to him that he could simply stop them now, rather than wait and follow. However, his curiosity over how the two men were pulling off the heists had grown to be too large. He deciding following the two would turn out to be something almost educational. Find the issue in security and deal with it. If someone was letting them in, he'd allow the Earl to decide their fate.

Looking the men over, he found them to be quite dull. Not as bad off as some of the Rats he'd seen but not nearly as well off as he. The somewhat tattered clothing, the thin film of dirt and grime on their flesh, and the practically non-existent sense of paranoia made it clear as day that the two hadn't lived on the streets for long. Probably a month or two at most. Rats for such a short amount of time and yet they could easily find 'The Tower' and even make their way into some of the most secure buildings in the city.

Something didn't sit right.

It took months to finally find the only path to 'The Tower' - if you were lucky enough to not get lost and turn up dead or arrested - and even longer to become strong enough to win a spot in 'The Tower' to call home - should you live long enough for that day. There was really only one, very rare, way to live in 'The Tower' so fast and that was by having a connection with someone already living there and willing to share. But that was what made it so rare. Nobody was willing to give up an inch of what they earned. People that claimed entire floors would never allow another person in while people that only had a corner wouldn't share because they barely had space for themselves.

Then that left the security infiltration. The men were clearly amateurs, far too new to this life to have learned any of the manipulation skills necessary to survive on their own as Rats. That put a halt to the idea of them getting in by the same tactics Crowned Clown and Timcanpy often used. The simple analysis easily narrowed down the list of ways to get in. Should there be a hole in any of the buildings, it would have been noticed and repaired long ago. Everything narrowed down to a guard allowing the men in.

As much as he wanted to doubt the idea, it wasn't all that out there. Yes, the guards they hired were well trusted and had been part of the family for years before being allowed their current jobs. That, however, didn't stop a man from looking the other way for a few minutes if it meant a few extra bills in his wallet.

With the sight of a familiar warehouse coming up on him, Crowned Clown forced himself out of his thoughts and back into the present. He took in every detail from the number of guards to the slightest wrinkle in the outfits they usually wore. One thing stood out most to him out of each of the guards.

He didn't recognize one of them.

Each guard the family had was very well trusted and well known to each of the Noah. Even the so-called "Secret Fourteenth" knew all of the most trusted people, though they didn't know him.

The fourteenth executive of the family was hidden by shadows ever since he or she had been brought into the family. The only thing anyone knew was that there _was_ a fourteenth 'Noah'. Most other things 'known' were mostly rumors. Though, everyone in the family had at least the idea that the 'Fourteenth' was strong and previously a Rat. This led most to believe the 'Fourteenth' to be a large, muscular man. The image of a teenage boy no older than sixteen and no taller than five foot, eight and a half inches never occurred to a single person outside of the executive 'Noah'.

To the fourteenth 'Noah', finding someone pretending to be part of the family was infuriating. Watching the man _allow_ the thieves in was even more so.

Before the handle of the door could be reached, a knife had grazed the false guard and stuck itself in the door. The knife was a simple throwing knife with a pure white strip of cloth wrapped around the handle with the end of it tucked through one of the wrappings and allowed to flutter in the slight breeze.

The sound of boots hitting the ground from feet above drew attention away from the knife and to an all white-dressed boy. The boy - with a mask covering his eyes and white hair parted to show a pentacle scar on his forehead - made his way closer to the building, ignoring the guns pointed at him in favor of toying with another of his throwing knives.

Within a second of a guard twitching his finger towards the trigger of his gun, he felt eyes behind a mask on him. "I wouldn't do that. You might just lose your life for it," the masked boy spoke in a voice that meant business. He'd stopped toying with the blade and - though his head was still down and facing the knife in his gloved hands - the guards could all feel his eyes on them.

"Who are you and why are you here?"

The guards were startled by a dark chuckle from the light boy. "Should you really be the one to ask that question?" The boy took a step forward, ignoring the many guns pointed in his direction though none firing. "I don't believe the Earl ever hired you."

At the mention of their boss, the guards lowered their guns though only by a centimeter. "How do you know about the Earl kid?" A rather tall and thin man asked.

Crown Clown recognized the speaker instantly, having met him more than once, and curved the corner of his mouth into a small smile. "Crack," Said man twitched at the mention of his name, causing the boy to smirk a bit. "If I'd known you'd be working right now, I'd have brought Tyki along and some cards. It's really never too late for poker, right?" A shift of eyes behind a mask went unseen as the boy looked to another man holding a gun pointed at him. "The same goes for you, Momo."

Before another question could be asked or another thought spoken, the sound of footsteps running away echoed off alley walls. In an instant, the boy had stopped smirking and was again straight-faced. "I want two of you to go after whoever just left and the rest of you to get back to your patrol."

Two men sprinted off in the direction the sound retreated in. However, the others didn't move an inch. Half a dozen guards were pointing their guns at the two strangers, and the false guard, all keeping a wary eye on the masked boy. "Lower your guns." The masked boy's voice rang out in the silence, startling one of the guards if only a little. "They've tried so hard to get in. So why don't we let them? I feel like being hospitable."

Hesitance was heavy in the atmosphere around the group before weapons were slowly lowered. The masked boy took the few necessary steps towards the door and reclaimed his knife by lightly pulling the hanging strip of cloth. He gripped the handle of the door and pulled it open, allowing his set targets and addition into the building. They took a moment to process what was happening before slowly making their way in, figuring running meant a bullet in their backs.

Once inside, Crown Clown led the three to a room towards the back. Not once did he have to check behind him for the men to see if they were following. Their movements echoed off the walls and told him all three were walking - more like shuffling. He could practically feel their fear, an easy sign that they wouldn't be trying anything even if they made it out of the building alive. How the three grown men acted because of the teenaged boy nearly made the youngest laugh out loud. To an outside party, this scene would more than likely be laughable if not sad. The boy honestly would have laughed had he not been in the middle of a job. Speaking of…

"So," the teen spoke, startling the men by the suddenness of the voice and the large echo. "The two I followed here have been stealing from us for quite a while and I can only presume that's because of the one that thinks he's part of our family. Tell me. How did this all start?" Silence and a cold blade at the teen's throat met the question still lingering in the air.

"Make even the slightest sound for your little guard dogs outside and I'll slit your throat." The false guard spoke into the teen's ear. Had the teen have been less in control of his body, he would have shivered at the grotesque feel and smell of the breath on and in his ear.

The white haired boy took a breath before letting out a sigh. "I'd prefer you not stand so close. Bad things tend to happen to those who get... 'too close for comfort' I suppose you could say."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" was the intended question. Instead, only the first two words barely made it out before a gloved hand was holding the arm that previously held the knife and twisted sharply. Sickening _cracks_ and _pops_ were heard as the arm bent in a very different angle than it had originally. The man howled in pain and clutched his arm to his chest, glaring daggers at the back of the masked boy's head.

Crowned Clown turned around with a straight face - from what could be seen - and faced the men. Ignoring the glare from the false guard and the shocked looks from the thieves, the boy gave a small and almost kind smile. "Answer my question - or questions - and I promise you won't have to concern yourselves with me harming you."

A fist aimed at his face was his answer. A quick and subtle move of his head had the arm over his shoulder. He grabbed the thieves arm and quickly flipped the older man, watching the man's back hit the concrete flooring at the same moment he ducked to miss a swing from the other thief. He brought his arm forward and forced the forearm into the attacker's stomach, throwing him off balance and causing him to stumble. Standing tall again, he kicked the man in the stomach and into a few crates.

The feeling of a barrel of a gun pressed to his head and the sound of the hammer being pulled back made the teen stop. A split second before the trigger was pulled, the teen let gravity do his work for him as his weight brought him to the ground. A quick spin and kick at the gun wielders legs had the man falling.

The all-white teen stood and, when seeing the gun being raised, threw one of his hidden knives into the man's hand. As the small though sharp metal entered the man's wrist, his hand was forced to let go of the gun in favor of being cradled to his chest.

Crowned Clown glared at the man holding his arm as he picked up the gun from the floor. "See… All I wanted to really know was who you're working with and how you got in. Though, I think I've got it together now." The teen stood up straight, looking over the pistol in his hands. He sent a few glances to the three men, the thieves seemed to be getting over their beating and were getting up. The men were standing for barely a moment before one found a bullet in his thigh and the other a bullet in his knee.

Their screams fell on deaf ears as the teen holding the gun turned back to the false guard. "I'm thinking… It's only you three. And you were the one that stole James' uniform. Having stolen a guards uniform, you told your friends which warehouse you'd be at and allowed them in each night. As long as you got paid in return. Am I correct?" The teen asked, pressing the barrel of the gun between the false guard's eyes.

A glare and spark of fear were all the teen needed before the trigger was pulled. Blood sprayed across the wall and some crates from the back of the man's head before his corpse fell to the ground. The teen watched the blood from the gaping wound in the back of man's head pool and frame his once blonde hair and light skin - quite well in the teen's opinion.

After staring at the corpse for a few moments, he realized the screaming behind him had stopped. The boy turned to face the once screaming men and found them staring at the corpse of their friend in fear and disbelief. Crowned Clown took a few steps towards the frozen men, that being enough to snap the men out of their states and cause them to try and move away. The pain running up the men's legs with each movement made them realize how real this all was. And that made it all the more terrifying.

They were about to be killed by a kid. _A kid_ for Christ's sake!

A familiar gun was raised, followed by the trigger being pulled, then everything went black. And the thieves knew nothing more.

The teen dropped the gun with a sigh and walked away from the three pools of blood flowing from three corpses. He glanced over his white suit as he made his way out of the warehouse, pleased that not a drop had stained the pristine white of his outfit. He met the guards at the door and ordered them to take care of the mess. A few men nodded and walked in through the door he just left, the rest of the guards staying outside and returning to duty so not to anger the boy.

Two men walked up to the all-white boy before he could make his leave. "We're sorry sir, but whoever it was in the alley got away. We checked everywhere and found no signs of another person within the area." One of the guards said, keeping a straight face and standing at attention. He didn't care if the one in front of him was half his age, he refused to anger anyone close to the Earl.

The Noah boy nodded, clearly not satisfied but understanding. You could only do so much and if someone turned down an alley before you ever saw them, then it was almost impossible to find them. "Alright. I'll tell the Earl. If anything happens, if you hear anything, call it in immediately. Understood?"

"Yessir." The two guards spoke in unison.

With his original job done and no lead on the onlooker, Crowned Clown sighed and made his leave to return home. It had been a long night and he had to wake up early in the morning.

* * *

 **There's a poll on my profile regarding the name of this story. I have a few ideas on there but I'm willing to listen to suggestions as well. I like the name but, with what I have planned, it doesn't exactly fit anymore. So there's a poll up. One of the options is to keep the name as is so if you like it, there you go.**

* * *

 **So, I've realized, I've been doing** _ **a lot**_ **more reading than writing lately. Ignoring the fact that my last "fic" was a two-shot some months ago, what made me realize this was rather sad and funny at the same time. In one hour, I found myself wondering when the next update would be. I asked this three times in one hour.**

 **...Then remembered I'm the author and decide when it updates.**

 **Every time I remembered that, I ended up groaning because I planned out something but it's** _ **way**_ **later and I'm still in the set-up phase. Not even close to the climax - peak, plot twist phase, turnaround, ol' switcheroo, whatever you wanna call it.**

 **I also remembered that I'm not allowed to set dates. I've literally said something would never update, and it got an update six hours later. With this, I promised an update the next day and here it is days later. At least it's out, right?**

* * *

 **I feel like the last chapter was a bit disappointing so I'm hoping this makes up for it. See ya.**


	4. Chapter 03

_**Chapter 03**_

* * *

Allen awoke and sat up in his plush bed with a groan. He'd returned home late and - after giving his report - finally made it to his bed and fell into the sweet land of dreams by one in the morning. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, he noticed it was ten minutes until five. He groaned again as he got to his feet and grabbed some clothes from his walk-in closet. As much as he should have been used to it by now, four hours of sleep was not a good thing for him or anyone.

In the ten minutes before his alarm would go off, Allen quickly showered and dressed himself. He walked out of his personal bathroom with his toothbrush still in his mouth so to turn off the annoying beeping that was his alarm. He walked back into his bathroom and finished brushing his teeth. The last step to his daily routine before breakfast was makeup.

The scar running through Allen's left eye was rather attention grabbing and he knew full well should anyone see it, they'd ask questions. Questions led to suspicion and suspicion led to people finding out exactly who he was and what he did. So, to avoid the attention and drama - and potentially prison - he used makeup.

Allen stared at his scar in the mirror and started applying a layer of foundation to cover the bright red and detailed scar. The skin was smooth, running a finger over the mark felt no different than feeling the other cheek. He'd been lucky that the scar hadn't protruded like a few of his others had. The color was already hard enough to cover, he didn't want to think about finding a way to even and smooth out the left side of his face.

When the makeup was applied, Allen turned his head and checked his work from all angles. Making sure the scar was entirely covered, he made his way downstairs. The boy wasn't halfway down the stairs when the smell of bacon caught his attention and led him to the dining room. Pushing open the doors, he noticed the Earl sitting at the head of the table with a stack of papers and a plate of toast before him. Allen walked over with slightly louder steps than usual so the man would hear him coming and not be surprised by the sudden appearance.

The Earl looked like a fairly average man. Middle-aged with a natural tan, brown and slightly narrowed eyes, dark slicked back hair with a few loose strands here and there, along with a light stubble along his jaw and upper lip. He wore a buttoned-up beige tailcoat with a black and white striped shirt underneath, the pants he wore were black and probably a size or two too large. All in all, the man didn't appear very fearsome.

But Allen knew the truth.

The Earl had earned his title. Not just because he ran the family, but because of how strong he was. After years of knowing the man, not once had Allen actually seen him break a sweat the few times he had to get involved. Not even when taking out a whole gang by himself - though Allen knew the men were weak, that didn't stop the action from being tiring. The Earl was terrifying when angered - Allen knew from the very few times he'd seen it - and was often called psychotic by the men he was torturing for harming his family. The man was known for very nearly slicing a man in half with a broadsword without batting an eyelash.

The same "terrifying" and "psychotic" man sat a mere foot away from where Allen stood.

The Earl turned away from his paperwork and smiled at Allen. "Good morning, Allen. Sleep well?"

Allen smiled and sat in the chair closest to the head of the table, next to the man. He stifled a yawn before speaking. "Morning dad. Another hour would have been nice, but yeah. I slept well."

"I see." The Earl grinned before snapping his fingers. A second later, maids were running out from the kitchen with plates of food for the teen and some coffee for the older. "Then let's wake you up, shall we?"

Allen chuckled. "You enjoy doing that, don't you?" At his father's silent smile, Allen rolled his eyes and started on his breakfast - which would have been a feast for anyone else.

It didn't take long for the massive amount of food to be gone, replaced by a small stack of plates. Allen took his napkin and gently used it to wipe his mouth, keeping clear of the makeup on his cheek. When he was done, he turned to his father figure. Noting the paperwork, he realized there were two stacks - one large enough to hide the second. Looking at the papers on top of each pile, Allen figured the taller stack was the finished paperwork. "Have you been here all night?"

The Earl smiled at the hint of concern in his adopted son's voice and set aside his pen. "I suppose I have." Judging by the fact that the teen was awake and dressed, the older of the two could only guess how long he'd been awake. "What time is it?"

A frown. "Almost five thirty."

"Ah… Then I suppose I should get some sleep."

The younger shook his head with a small sigh. It was rare, but sometimes he had to wonder who was the older of the two; himself or the man next to him. The Earl was known - within the family - for being rather forgetful at times, so it was a common occurrence for him to be reminded of things he would tend to forget.

"Do you want me to finish the rest for you?" The silverette looked at the small pile of papers as he asked his question. He could tell there wasn't much left to be done but he still worried for the one who took him in. The man had been nothing but kind to the boy since bringing him into his home and the younger looked to repay that kindness however he could.

The older chuckled before taking a swig of his coffee. "I'll be fine Allen. You have school today, yes?" At his son's nod, the father continued. "Worry about yourself for now. We wouldn't want your grades to slip."

Allen knew exactly what his father meant, but it didn't stop him from frowning - borderline pouting. He had been a straight 'A' student since he started school. If his grades suddenly began to fall, his teachers would start wondering what caused their ace student to slip. Curiosity would lead to the teachers checking in on him and asking questions. Questions and check-in's meant people looking into him and his life. If people dug too deep… it's easy to say it wouldn't end well for the curious party.

The boy sighed in defeat and let his frown - pout - straighten out. "I understand. I'll head off soon." The older was about to speak - smiling as he saw this as a mild victory for him as a father - when his son cut him off. "But. You have to get some rest."

The Earl frowned as he glanced at the small stack of papers to his left before his eyes fell back on the only other person in the room. "After I finish with these, I promise I'll go to bed. And I won't let anything or anyone interrupt that," the older quickly added before the light-haired boy could argue with him.

The silverette looked into the brunet's eyes. They held each other's gaze for a few moments before the younger gave in. With a mutter of 'fine' - and figuring he could call one of the maids for an update while at school - Allen stood from his seat, wished his father figure a good 'night', then set to finishing getting dressed.

The teen walked up the stairs and to his room then into his bathroom, stopping in front of his intended destination. A marble bust sat upon the counter, accentuated by a chestnut colored wig resting on it. With great reluctance, the teen tied up his snow-like, mid-neck length hair before grabbing the wig. He'd always hated the artificial cover-up - much rather preferring his natural color - though he found it necessary. White hair wasn't common among teenagers and he didn't want to be the center of attention with their being a thief and murderer of his build with white hair out and about.

He had come up with the different identities around the time he joined the family. Everybody had agreed to him going to school like a normal kid his age, though, to him, it seemed nobody had taken into account his odd appearance. He was the one to decide to wear a wig and makeup in public to hide his hair and scar and a mask at night to hide his eyes. To the world, there were four people; Allen Walker - the straight A student, Crowned Clown - the thieving and murdering Rat, the Fourteenth Noah - one nobody had ever seen yet had heard of, and the mysterious adopted son of Adam Millennium - known only to the Noah family and close friends as Allen Millennium.

In actuality, they were all one teenage boy with a rather deceptive build. When the teen - boy at the time - decided on the multiple identities, he figured it would be difficult to balance out. It had been at first, until he realized he truly had only two identities that people saw and one hardly ever interacted with anyone. Quickly the four identities became easy to handle… personality and stress wise at least.

The teen sighed - groaning to himself - as he pulled the wig over his own locks, adjusting it as needed before locking it in place with several hairpins. After shaking his head harshly to test the wig wouldn't move, Allen left his bathroom to put on his shoes and grab his bag. By the time he was at the front door and ready to leave, it was a quarter to six and forty-five minutes before his first class.

As he reached for the door handle, a voice stopped him. "Be good, Allen Walker." The boy turned towards the voice and saw the Earl standing in the doorway connecting the entrance hall and dining room.

He smiled at the man and nodded, "Sleep well, Mr. Millennium." With that, the boy opened the door and stepped out into the cool morning air. He casually walked from his rather large home to his school, enjoying the calm and quiet air as he went.

He had always prefered walking rather than riding in a car. He used to give the excuse that someone would recognize the car or see where it came from, therefore blowing his cover. Eventually, the boy became honest; he didn't trust most vehicles and overall didn't like them. Anything with an engine would have his nerves on edge. They took away the dangers he knew how to fight against and replaced them with ones he didn't understand and would rather avoid. He would ride in them if it was necessary, but not if he had a choice.

It didn't take long for a familiar building to come into view. In Allen's personal opinion, the walk was never long enough. It easily took him fifteen minutes to get from home to school though he usually walked slowly, adding an extra ten minutes onto that. With twenty minutes before his first class, Allen wandered the campus in hopes of finding his friends. It hadn't taken him long to spot a familiar head of red, unruly hair.

With a smile, Allen walked up behind his friend with a slightly crouched stance and loud footsteps - for the normally stealthy boy . To anyone watching, he looked like he was try to sneak up on the redhead - and failing judging by the 'targets' grin that accompanied the first step. To the boy, he was just messing around and trying to make himself obvious.

The redhead turned around with a smirk on his lips and amusement clear in his emerald eyes. "You're gonna have to do better than that if you really wanna sneak up on me, Shortstack." The taller of the two flashed a grin at his friend's frown. "Don't worry, you'll get there eventually. I believe in you Lil' Buddy!"

Allen's frown turned into a pout. "Three things. First of all, I'm not short. You're just freakishly tall. Secondly, what do you have against using my name? Lastly, you tell me that every day Lavi."

The redhead - Lavi - shrugged as he rested an arm on Allen's shoulder. "Three responses. First of all, yes you are. You're tiny. Secondly, they're called nicknames Shortstack. We've been over this. Lastly, I only repeat myself because I really think you can do it one day! You're actually getting better too!" Lavi paused for a moment before quickly adding on, "Kinda."

"Just you watch," Allen started, shrugging Lavi's arm off his shoulder, "I'll sneak up on you one day and scare the pants off of you."

The sound of a tongue clicking against teeth reminded the two of the other people there. "Just give up Beansprout. It's never going to happen." Allen frowned at the speaker. He had long midnight blue hair that reached the middle of his back - even when tied up in a high ponytail - and narrow, navy blue eyes that seemed to be set in a permanent scowl.

"You don't know that." Allen's frown turned into a resigned glare at the long-haired boy. Of all his friends and family members, this one person had the uncanny ability to revert Allen back into that nameless, eight year-old Rat with a temper. The glare slipped away with a sigh, a sarcastic look of sympathy taking its place. "Though, you don't know much of anything… It's really sad and truly a question of how you managed to get into this school Kanda."

The midnight haired teen - Kanda - let out a growl that sounded along the lines of a question. Before he could truly speak - or growl more as it seemed he was more willing to do at the moment - Allen spoke again. "Ah. I forgot. You're head is too thick to understand anything I just said…"

Before a fight could start up between the two, a girl with long, green twin ponytails stepped in. Her violet eyes sent the clear message that neither boy would be safe should they continue. With silent agreement, the boys each took a step back and calmed down.

Lavi whistled and shook his head, his red tresses swaying softly. "Dang Lenalee… You really are the scariest person in this school…" The redhead muttered before grinning teasingly. "You don't work with the Noah Family or the Earl, do you?"

It was a common saying throughout the youths of the town. Anyone who seemed scary to their friends would be asked the - usually - joking question. Rarely did it actually mean anything. Everyone with connections to the Noah Family had heard the joke at least once either in passing or from friends but - funny enough - anyone truly related to the family had never been asked the question.

Much to popular disbelief, the Noah family and all its members weren't nearly as bloodthirsty or monsterous as everyone seemed to believe. They were all very kind unless provoked - in which, then something like the devil incarnate would appear before somebody happened to disappear.

The girl - Lenalee - sighed and rolled her eyes. "You know I wouldn't work with them. They cause so much trouble for my brother… He always collapses and falls asleep on the couch when he gets home from work…" Lenalee's voice had turned soft the moment she mentioned her brother. The girl had always had a soft spot for her older brother, even more so when he became a forensic scientist - his own way of trying to stop the infamous family.

Allen frowned, "He's not overworking himself, is he?"

"Tch." Kanda sounded. "Are you kidding me? He's probably sleeping at work and wakes up long enough to get home before sleeping again."

Expecting a comment or argument in the defense of her brother, Allen and Lavi looked to Lenalee who remained silent. The only sound passing through Lenalee's lips being a sigh. She wanted to argue that her brother was a hard worker but she knew otherwise. Ultimately, the defense would only be a waste of breath.

"That's just sad." Lavi blurted out after moments of pure silence.

"I know…" Lenalee resigned to agree. Barely a moment later, the female of the group made a sound as she seemed to remember something. "Oh! But he left for work early today. He didn't even have breakfast!"

Lavi gasped, his hand flying to his chest in an over-dramatic display of shock. "No…! The horror…!" The next second found Lavi crouched over and nursing his recently kicked shin. "Okay, I'm sorry!

Allen rolled his eyes at the older's childish display before focusing his attention back on Lenalee. "Why'd he leave so early? Doesn't he usually go to work around nine? It's not even six thirty."

Lenalee pointed a finger at Allen as if to say he hit the nail on the head. "He told me somebody found a couple bodies way early this morning. Police think they were killed by the Noah. He was called in to check it out since he's worked on most of the Noah cases."

"Then he'll be able to catch them soon?" Allen asked with a hint of what looked to be genuine hope to his friends.

Seeing the hint of hope in Allen's eyes had made it hard for Lenalee to tell him the truth. However, she refused to lie to the boy. "I'm afraid not. They're good at covering their tracks. The most he can do is figure out how the person was killed and by figuring that out, he can figure out which one did it."

Allen frowned in confusion. To him, it sounded as if she had just contradicted herself. It seemed Allen wasn't the only one confused as Lavi spoke up, standing as he did. "Care to clarify Lenalady?"

Lenalee looked around before speaking in a quieter voice, low enough for only her friends to hear her. "Brother told me that each of the Noah have their own style. He's given them all nicknames or numbers since it isn't known who the Noah really are. There's one that's absolutely brutal on all of their victims but the bodies are always dressed up like dolls so brother calls that specific Noah 'Doll Maker'. He says that, judging by the clothes and accessories, Doll Maker is a girl and most likely childish if not a child."

Allen took a moment to process the information. He had known that everyone had their own way of doing things - that's how humans worked, almost nothing alike - but for some reason he never thought about someone being able to learn about them through their unique styles. Road's was fairly obvious. He hated to admit it but it was true. No grown man would play dress up with the corpses of their latest victims. Well… Aside from the especially strange that is.

"Does he know anything about the ones found this morning?" Lavi asked, effectively bringing Allen out of his thoughts and into a state of near fear. The face Lavi had while hearing about how a supposed little girl killed people was creepy to say the least.

Lenalee tilted her head side to side shortly. "Yes and no. They were described and he said it sounded like Destruction."

"'Destruction'?" Allen found himself wondering aloud.

A dip and rise of forest green hair. "Yeah. Brother said the only way to describe how this Noah kills is by saying he completely destroys parts of his victims before killing them. He thinks 'Destruction' is pretty large and strong because of how easily they break bones but also good with throwing knives apparently."

Lavi blinked, taking a moment to go over what he just heard. "So… That guy a few months back with both arms and legs almost completely shattered with a knife to the forehead… That'd be 'Destruction'?"

"Exactly." Lenalee took a moment of pause as a shiver ran up her spine. She always knew when it was 'Destruction' when her brother came home. He always seemed to have a haunted look - more so than with any other Noah victims - when he would come home. He would hardly eat or speak, only going to his room to sit in silence. It terrified her what a Noah could do to her brother without them ever having met.

Allen had a different reaction altogether. Outwardly, he seemed worried - about the Noah - and concerned - for Lenalee. Inwardly, however, he was conflicted. On one hand, he didn't mind a moniker like 'Destruction' - it was better than 'Doll Maker' in his opinion. It seemed to distribute the right amount of fear that he always wanted his victims to feel.

On the other hand, he felt insulted. He always liked to claim his killing style as 'controlled chaos'. Yes, limbs were broken to a point that if the person managed to live, it would need to be amputated, but it was controlled. He knew exactly what he was doing and where he was doing it. It wasn't like he was bending bones haphazardly. Even he couldn't do that. He knew the exact points on the human body that could bend just the way he liked.

So no, it wasn't "destruction", it was controlled chaos.

The bell ringing for students to head to their first class ended the morbid conversation before another word could be added. The quartet went their separate ways with soft goodbyes as they headed to their own classes.

On the way to Allen's class, he saw a familiar head of spiky purple hair. With a grin, Allen ran up behind the short girl and covered her eyes with his hands. Not a word was said by him before the girl grinned as well and let out an excited cry of "Allen!" Said boy let go of the girl in time for her to turn around and tackle him into a hug.

The taller of the two gave the smaller a tight squeeze before speaking. "Hey Road. I just heard something really interesting that I think you may or may not like."

The girl - Road - tilted her head curiously, completely blind and uncaring of the people walking by and staring at her arms wrapped behind Allen's neck. "Oh? And what is it that you heard?"

Allen leaned in close to whisper into her ear, not wanting their onlookers to overhear. "There's a little girl Noah who plays dress up with her victims like they're dolls so the police are calling her 'Doll Maker'." Sensing the girl was about to speak up, he quickly added, "There's another that they call 'Destruction' because of the damage he deals to his victims."

Road waited a moment to make sure Allen was finished before speaking, a pout clear in her voice. "'Doll Maker'? Really? How boring… Literally anything else would have been better than that. You're so lucky you get 'Destruction'... At least it sounds cool and gets the point across. 'Doll Maker' just sounds like a sad old person with no kids so they decided to make dolls in place of their nonexistent children. Like a creepier version of a crazy cat lady. I don't wanna be a crazy cat lady or anything like that Allen…!"

Allen stayed quiet as he let Road ramble. He knew from personal experience that it was never good to interrupt the small and deceivingly sweet girl. Whether in public or in private, she would find a way to punish whoever interrupted her. Exceptions were extremely rare and even they wouldn't go unpunished.

The second Road was finished - a 'huff' being the tell tale sign she was done - Allen spoke up. "You think I like 'Destruction'? You know better than anyone that I prefer to call it 'controlled chaos'. I'm sorry your nickname sucks but I'm sure it could have been worse. And no you aren't and won't ever be a crazy cat lady." Allen was quick to add in as he felt Road's jaw slightly move against his own. With a sweet smile, Allen pulled back and looked Road in the eye before speaking at normal volumes again. "Now, we have to get to class, otherwise we'll be late."

Road pouted before nodding slowly. "Will you walk me to my class?" At Allen's nod, Road grinned brightly and led the way to her class. The slight skip in her step causing Allen to chuckle softly at her antics.

For now he wouldn't worry about how he or Road acted, but Allen knew they'd have to be careful. He may never had met Lenalee's brother but he was starting to wonder if he should worry about the older sibling learning too much. He didn't want to hurt Lenalee because her brother happened to be good at his job. She was his friend after all.

* * *

 **Yo~ Finally finished this chapter! I've only had it half finished for a few months~ ... Don't look at me like that. It wasn't even at a point that was worthy of posting back then! At least I was able to finish it!**

 **But yeah, I have college classes going on now and happened to have free time in class. Got curious of what I had going on in my Drive (Google) and saw this. Read it to see where I left off and was lucky enough to be able to pick it up! Also found the layout for the story - not the chapter, the fic! - so that makes it a bit easier.**

 **Hope I can update again soon on just about anything… That'd be nice, right? Fave, follow, review and check out my other stuff. Reviews tend to make me update since it makes me realize people actually read my bullshit… K Thx Bye~**


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